Gathered Fragments
by Argentus
Summary: A mirror holds no secrets...Edmund wanders the Magician's House late at night and finds someone he has never entirely forgotten. Set within VoDT.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **_**Would**_** you be in the C.S. Lewis section, if you didn't know who owned Narnia? Ah, didn't think so.**

**A world of thanks to my beta-reader, Roocersoc, who taught me the value of present tense, and puts up with my…hiati? Hiatuses? Well, whatever the past tense of hiatus is.**

**Gathered Fragments**

**Chapter 1: Enchanted**

Really, they would have terrified braver men than him. The moment he crept into the corridor, the hanging masks caught his eyes. They lined the walls, their gaping mouths and painted faces looking positively eerie in shafts of moonlight. A shiver ran up his spine but he held himself up bravely, as only a King of Narnia could, and walked on.

Something in this extraordinary House was calling out to him, and Edmund knew too little about Magic to ignore the surge of energy flowing into his limbs, the irresistible golden Voice calling his name. . He had been quickly tired out from all the merriment beforehand; and though he politely would not show it, very eager to be rid of the persistent Dufflepuds. Eustace and Caspian had crawled under the covers and been asleep in minutes; and soon thereafter Reepicheep's tiny snores echoed throughout the bedroom provided for them by Coriakin. But a sleepless Edmund had sat bolt upright, feeling his heart hammer away. The night was still rich with enchantments lingering in the air. Something somewhere in the Magician's House was drawing him forth; it would plague him the whole night if it had to. Edmund felt sure he wouldn't get any rest until he was summoned to its side. And it wanted _him, _only him, it wouldn't have any other.

So he'd dressed by moonlight, found his hunting dagger, and crept silently out of the room.. Edmund shivered despite himself, and he began the long walk down a moonlit corridor, feeling for the dagger at his side. He had half a mind to go back for his sword. Somehow, he knew the dagger wouldn't be much protection against what he was going to face. On and on he walked, trying not to think of what an endless stretch of corridor it seemed to be; he kept a hand on his weapon— just in case. He gave up on counting doorways and kept eyes fixed stoically ahead, led on by the resonant, nameless summon.

He snuck another look at the masks, trying to remember how comical they had looked in broad daylight. One of them had a crown of thorns, and a pale, dead-white face. Edmund flinched and pushed on hurriedly. Countless closed doors went by in a blur. If he stopped long enough, he might have been able to decipher their etched symbols, but Edmund went past them, eerily aware of his destination. He could just make out the outline of the very last door, where Lucy had been this morning. But right beside it…was a spot devoid of shadows in which all moonlight seemed to pool. _The room next to it. This is it_.

Edmund stopped, regarding it with grim certainty. The door he faced was open a crack and cold blue light just barely spilled through. Just the others, this one displayed vivid scarlet carvings in an unknown language, and they seemed wise and familiar to a young King's learned eyes. But none of these mattered now, for a fierce, desperate longing took hold of him. A nameless force within that room was singing his name over and over again, until he was awash in echoes of himself .

_DearsonofAdamcomeKingEdmundcomenowEdmund…Edmund…Edmund…__**Edmund**__ …_

"I've come," Edmund said calmly, feeling no fear.

"_I'm_ _here_," he whispered, and he swinging the door open, he slipped in.

He came into a squarish room with a tapestry carpet and shelve-lined walls from floor to ceiling. Books of all sizes did not nearly fill up the shelves; he had a glimpse of the occasional gap and triangular spaces between gold-bound volumes.

All bluish light emanated from the most curious object in this room: a delicately framed pane of reflective glass set into the far wall, opposite the door he'd just entered . Edmund's face was instantly tinged frosty blue, his paleness a stark contrast to his wild dark hair, and the dark jacket he'd thrown over his night clothes. As he moved closer, he had impression that a gentle swirl of pale blue light swelled beneath the mirror's surface. It flung peculiar patterns all over the room. He gripped his dagger so tightly, that its hilt carvings dug into his palm.

The Voice was melting into bright tremulous tones beyond the polished glass, enticing him more than ever before. Somehow he was certain that it meant him no harm. It was not a sinister enchantment, though it flowed into him and made him feel horribly alone and in want of warmth. Eagerly, he dropped the dagger and reached out his hand, reached out to his white-faced reflection.

His hand passed through the glass; pierced into shimmering bluish white.

Edmund was anything but surprised. _This is it_, he thought. _If I'm what you want..then so be _it. He pressed on, stepping into the mirror putting both hands forward. Edmund gasped as the glass engulfed him. He tingled all over; his body gave in to the pure Magic of it. Edmund kept a steady eye on his hands, slicing through a thin blue mist, as far as the eye could see.

And the strange, far-off voice went on, fluid and silvery as moonlight,. Nothing seemed to matter as he plunged through the mist; only this strange muted summon and the intoxicating pulse of strength in his veins.

_Find him…find him… _the voice sighed, sounding as though somebody was right by his ear .

"Find who?" Edmund's low voice shook slightly. He wasn't even sure if It had a voice anymore, it was drifting into his thoughts in lingering echoes .

_You know who_…

Edmund lowered his hands when he could no longer see them. _Who?! _He paused, reluctance mounting as he was met with silence. The mist was now a shimmering blue obscurity, and the sharp outlines of the room had melted behind into vague faintness.

_This isn't good. I should turn back. By the Lion, I'm in a_ mirror_!. A mirror in an enchanted house! _For an instant, he was assailed by terrible visions of enchantment: Odysseus' men lured by the sirens' call, Lord Mavramorn diving to his golden death…dead-white hands feeding him Turkish Delight…_Stop that, Edmund_ He inhaled sharply, rocking on the balls of his feet. This wasn't a good time to be remembering _that._

Then the voice crept through the fog once more and he could hear every tinkling word.

_Lost…he is lost…find him…only you can find him_

He peered hopelessly into the drifting mist. _Do tell me who he is! Tell me who I'm supposed to find!_

_Tell me who_ you_ are_…

Aggravated, Edmund cast a glance over his shoulder. A patch of lucid colors was suspended in the cloud of sparkling blue. It was all that was left of the room, and the Mirror's entrance. He gave a resigned sigh. Well, perhaps it would be alright as long as he could still get back. And on he walked, reminded strongly of the first time he entered the wardrobe into Narnia: a door into the outside world getting further and further away, the sting of snowy air on his skin, sharp prickling on his face as icicles clung to it… Edmund blinked. Something crunched oddly beneath his boots. The voice was fading into the distance, as quickly as the mist was lifting.

He had time to brush frozen crystals off his face before the last traces of mist vanished and he saw where he was.

"By Jove," he muttered, "Why I do believe…I'm back"

It was the Western Waste as he'd first seen it, cold, quiet, and glaring white with snow in every direction. A weak sun hung low in the cloudless blue sky; barely touching the treetops. Skeletal, snow-covered trees lay before him, all around him; if he looked closer, he could spot the lamppost's soft glow amidst a copse of firs on the far left.

Edmund blew out a puff of cold air. He tugged his fur-lined jacket closer, grateful for the time he'd taken to pull it on. And then he froze, reaching for his only weapon. The harsh sound of someone sobbing was lost in the cold winter draft.

Crisp snow crunched underfoot and momentary silence lingered in the open air. Another fit of fretful sobs came from deep within the frozen woods. Edmund thought of the Voice's words. _Find him, only you can find him_…

Whoever it was, it sounded young, human, and horribly lonesome. A child lost in Lantern Waste? And by Aslan, it was _winter… _of all times to get lost… He sighed. He knew this wood well, he had been Lord of it once upon a time. In his ruling days, the wild Tree-people of Lantern Waste did not think too much of anybody who woke their wintry slumber.

With senses long honed from countless hunts and battles, Edmund managed to crudely pinpoint the sound's source. And he was off, striking a rough path into the woods.

Dodging a low-lying branch, he noticed how the feeble sunlight blended their shadows into an indistinct haze. The surrounding growth of trees looked unnaturally lurid, and then there was the matter of the snow, a candescent whiteness that hurt his eyes the longer he looked at it. Edmund had to blink several times and shake himself to keep on track. He felt like he'd stepped into one of Eustace's favorite muddled paintings.

_Was_ he back in Narnia after all? The deeper he got into the woods, the less he was sure. Along with Edmund's habitual watchfulness came a twinge of suspicion. He'd read of such things, back in England: parallel universes and…_what-do-you-call-ems? _Edmund racked his brains; he'd have to check his detective anthologies later. This must be what the place was, distorted reality, a skewed alternate Narnia caught in the reflections of the Magician's Mirror…

And speaking of which, he realized that he'd left behind all traces of the mysterious mist and with it, the room and the Mirror from which he'd entered.

Before he could further dwell on this, something heavy decked him square on the forehead._ Blast! Another branch…ought to have been more careful… _Edmund groaned, touching the aching spot—just as a flurry of snow slid off the branch, landing on his head. _Lovely_. He pushed back his cold, dripping hair, suddenly alert. The crying sounded closer than ever…in fact it might have been coming from a gap in the trees ahead that seemed to open out into a small clearing. He made his way to it and gaped in momentary surprise. It _was_ a clearing, and in its center, curled into a miserable ball and choking with sobs, sat a dark-haired boy.

Edmund's chest stirred with the beginnings of sympathy. He stepped into open space, proceeding cautiously towards the small, hunched figure. As light as his steps were, his boots made muffled noises in the fresh-fallen snow. The boy's sobs died down; his slim shoulders tensed.

"Hello," Edmund said, gently as he could, intent on not frightening him. "Are you lost? Don't worry, I—"

His words died when the child lifted his head.

**A/N: M'kay, we get this a lot in here but…this is my first chaptered fic, and I'd really love feedback! I know there isn't much of a plot yet, but even comments about the writing style would make my day. **

**And I knew it wasn't 'hiati', I was kidding. : )**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: To quote Morpheus from **_**The Matrix**_**: "This may feel…a little weird"**

**Gathered Fragments**

**Chapter 2: Frozen Hearts**

Soulful dark eyes, shadowed and red-rimmed. A grubby face, glistening with tears and frost stared back . Snowflakes dotted a tangled mop of hair so dark it was almost black… and the bitterness, the terrible bitterness in the boy's expression. Edmund almost felt his heartbeat come to a staggering halt.

_This…can't…be_

He nearly broke into breathless giddy laughter, at the utter impossibility of what he was seeing. The boy scrambled to his feet, his dark-brown eyes boring into Edmund's. He was shorter by about a head; his face was pinched, much thinner, and seemed so many ages younger. And of course he was red and splotchy from a hard cry. But Edmund could have been looking at his own reflection. Even his faint dusting of freckles matched the boy's

… _I _am_ in a mirror_! he reminded himself furiously. _And I'm looking at …only younger …oh bother…_

"This is _mad._" he blurted out. The look-alike boy blinked wordlessly. He hadn't seemed to notice anything odd yet, and swiped guiltily at his cheeks

"I-I'm…sorry." Edmund stammered, struggling to maintain calm. Either this was a bloody bit of Magic or he was going _insane_… Fervently praying it was the former, he ventured "Are you all right? Maybe I can help? You…you look a bit… you look like you need it." When he was younger, Edmund remembered, he wouldn't have liked being told that he looked an awful, blubbing mess.

"They're beasts!" the boy choked, with a heated sniff. For the first time, Edmund noticed that he was dressed in a schoolboy outfit- a pressed jacket and trousers that ended right at the knee. Icicles were forming at the ends of his dark hair and thin hoarfrost clung to his skin, but they could have melted away in an instant, for he was flushed and simmering with childish rage. He was the warmest tangible semblance of life in this cold, bare place. And he had started muttering ominous words to himself; oblivious of anything else.

"Hate them…I hate them all…stuck up, beastly…pigs! They think…just because they're bigger…they think…" His blazing, dark eyes darted left and right, they scoured the snow-fallen clearing and the frozen woods beyond before coming to rest on a still-speechless Edmund.

The boy's eyes widened, not in recognition but in alarm.

"I don't suppose you're one of Them!" he cried out, his flushed skin losing color "You came to tell on me, or beat me up? If you have—"

Edmund knew in that instant what he'd been crying about. With one stride, he got close enough to take the boy by the shoulders

"Do calm down!" he gasped. "I'm _not_ going to hurt you. I'm…" _your older self_ he thought, somewhat dazed. Small shudders wracked the boy's slight body and Edmund forced down his confusion for a moment. He gripped the boy's shoulders tight.

"It's bullies, isn't it?" The boy gave a brief nod, screwing up his face to fight another violent sob._ Bullies. _Sweet relief swept over Edmund. Just bullies. Perhaps this fragment of his past he could handle. But nothing more, nothing else.

"Peter's at school with you, though, isn't he? He'll—"

"_Peter_" the child scoffed, scowling into surrounding trees. Edmund flinched. For a long time, he'd avoided thinking about it. He hated Peter so much, back then…he virtually hated every living thing that

came within inches of him. He'd been so passionately _angry_...how could he now forget this intense, boyish anger when it was spitting in his face?

"I can take them on my own! I tried to face them alone once and they…some of them hit me. Still, he _should_ think I could handle it!" the boy finished in one shaky breath. He glowered at Edmund, who, despite his growing apprehension, felt a tiny twinge of empathy. It was perfectly alright, this ardent want to fight one's own battles.

Even if, as he'd learned in his time, not all battles could possibly be fought alone.

"Don't you see," the boy grumbled "He won't even let me…take them on by myself. We had a row. He wrote to Mum about it…I _didn't_ want anyone to know… He said I shouldn't have gone after them on my own. Said I still needed him to watch out for me."

"He was right, you know." Edmund spoke up with decided calm. And he didn't mean to, but he sighed, with maddening wisdom of one who had been there. "You…You can't take on _everything_ by yourself"he said sagely_. _At this, the boy grunted and shrugged Edmund off, he began a disgruntled, back-and-forth pace, kicking up arcing sprays of snow. Edmund's hands were shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cold. The boy's despondent slouch, his thin chest heaving, even his unhappy gait …he was the very living echo of a much younger Edmund. Just watching him, Edmund felt the beginnings of a tight ache, but for whatever reason, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Look here," the boy said, and finally raked him over with a wary glance, "Who're you anyway, telling me what to do?"

Again, Edmund felt that wild urge to laugh. Then the boy continued, an angry look on his face. "I'm _sick _of this! Everyone's either telling me what to do or doing horrid things to me …I hate them all!" he burst out, and stamped one foot for emphasis. The words felt like a slap to Edmund's cold, already-stinging cheeks.

_**Hate**__ them? …no…don't say that please…just be quiet…_

He'd given in to boyish spite this easily. _This _was what made him such a vulnerable target for a far greater evil. And the thought of this battered at his chest and ripped out of his mouth. "…Shut up!" he snapped. Before the boy had a chance to respond, Edmund cut him off roughly "Wouldn't you listen to yourself! Bullies being beastly, doesn't mean the rest of the world is! You jolly well don't have to shut everyone out!" he snarled.

The clearing, indeed it seemed the entire icy forest rang with his strident voice. Edmund's cheeks went aflame despite the cold, and he stealthily advanced on the boy just as he would have born down on an opponent in single combat. Yes, this_ was_ him, two years ago…but no more, he swore inwardly. _No. More._

"I know it's over now…for me, anyway." his harsh voice sank lower. He hardly noticed how he was trembling, from bare head to booted feet. "But I do think that if I hadn't closed myself up… I wish I hadn't been…so spiteful. But it's over. It's done with and there's nothing I can do to change it." Edmund steadied his voice, which had begun to quiver; he clenched his fists, battling with the mad desire to give the younger boy a vigorous smack. "I've no idea where I am now… but I believe there is something I'm here for. I _can _say this to you…you don't have to be… such a…a…"

"Poisonous little beast?" The boy's smile was mirthless, his soft laugh cold-blooded. " I know I'm not. I'm something much worse."

Edmund's heart gave a painful thump. "Something much…worse?"

"Rather. I'm a _traitor._"

The mere word lanced ice through Edmund's gut. Instantaneously, a thick lump rose in his throat. From the moment he'd seen this boy, he'd hoped that this part would go unmentioned. All his defenses were torn asunder; he stumbled back as though he'd been hit "Don't," he said faintly. "Don't say that"

"Why not? Look here…" A pale white hand reached into the innocuous looking school jacket. And a thousand thoughts came to Edmund all at once

_Don't say it, please. Because it __**hurts**__ me. Because it brings back horrid memories, for you _and _for me. Because it is…was…true Don't, please… _Edmund let out a strangled gasp. From beneath his pressed jacket, the boy had slipped out something that was similar in shape to his dagger…no it was worse, a thousand times much worse. Its handle glinted gold and silver, and the frost crystals on its fluid blade sparkled like many fine diamonds. And looking at it, Edmund could almost feel the smooth, sharp blade brush his throat as the witch held it in place. His lifeblood, filthy traitor's blood, would drench the unmarked snow red…

His limbs coiled, he sprang forward and for a few heartbeats, he and the boy were wrestling madly for the Stone Knife. With a grunt, a burst of strength, and a ferocious yank that sent Edmund reeling into the cold, the boy wrested it from his grasp. Instantly, Edmund's hand flew to his near-forgotten dagger, he steeled where he had stumbled, ready for the next attack. Even as he stood in the snow, tensed and panting, the boy paid him no attention, caressing the Knife almost lovingly as he strode across the snow. Smiling vaguely , he halted right in front of Edmund and gripped its handle with both hands.

He was pointing the glimmering blade towards his own heart. Edmund's blood turned to ice

"Don't!" he cried. The child stared back coldly, his stubborn face shining with pale frost and weak sunlight.

"It wouldn't matter. No one would care if I'm gone" He blinked at Edmund with eyes strange and clouded; a world of despair and humiliation lurking in the darkness. "They h-hate me. Peter…Susan…even L-Lucy… "

"_No_," Edmund took a guarded step forward, "Don't do it, Ed. Nobody hates you."

"_You _do!" the boy's broken sob pierced into wintry silence. Edmund almost choked on relief as the child flung the Knife aside and sunk into the snow, a quivering, miserable heap.

"Ed…" Edmund murmured shakily. He didn't stop to think, he simply crossed the remaining space between them, putting both unsteady, uncertain arms around the shuddering figure. With a jolt of nausea, he kicked the Knife aside. The boy immediately struggled to get away but Edmund was stronger and held him tight. Gingerly, he stroked the tangled mess of dark hair, patting him awkwardly on the back. After a while, the tired limbs relaxed into the makeshift warmth of Edmund's arms

"I…s-s-should h-ave..died," the boy sniffled, voice muffled by Edmund's jacket "_She_ should've k-k-killed me…I…d-d-deserved…"

"Hush" Edmund gave him a rough shake. He took firm hold of boy's frail shoulders, silently beseeching him to stop. "Nobody hates you. Nobody wants you to die…least of all me. Get a hold of yourself…Edmund." he whispered. It was beyond sanity, speaking his own name, consoling a specter of the past. But if he let go now...he _couldn't_ let himself crumble like this. He simply couldn't.

He had to face this

The child groaned softly in his arms and Edmund sighed with him.

"Edmund are you listening?" he queried. The child grunted in exhausted acknowledgement. Edmund sank into the snow beside him, still patting him on the back. "S'all right, Ed. I felt this too. There were days when I thought I'd go mad from guilt"

For a while, he just stared into the blinding white snow. He remembered them all too well. Days as cold as this one, when memories came with a biting chill. Days when he couldn't separate himself from what he'd done. He shut his blearing eyes and drew comfort from the younger boy's warmth, as he groped for words.

"I didn't deserve…any of it. That's what I kept telling myself. But I just kept thinking…of Aslan. He told me there was no blame. He said…I won't ever forget what he said…that I would be so much more than what I'd done." The child's choked, shuddering breaths subsided. And still Edmund held him, knowing too well how much he needed it, conscious of his breath coming in short rasps, of his eyes burning with odd intensity. Edmund swallowed over the lump in his throat

"Listen," he murmured "I—you saved everyone else that day on the battlefield. Peter was frightfully proud of you…do you remember? Lucy and Susan said it was all right, all of _Narnia_ forgave you. And Aslan knighted you. And you…I…" he stopped, aware that he was starting to babble. He let the memories wash gently over him, and the boy breathed easily; perhaps he too remembered. Time didn't seem to exist in this dimension.

"Then you grew up…you became a King. Damn good King you were too" he added with a grin. If anything, his younger self would pardon this bit of cheek. Next moment, the warmth in his arms pulled away, and a pair of incredulous brown eyes met his. Edmund gave a shaky laugh

The boy's reply surprised him. "I _know._" he said vehemently. "But…why did you stop me? I should think you'd want _me_ destroyed. I'm the part of yourself you hate."

"Don't be an ass." was Edmund's sharp answer, fixing the child with the same stern gaze that he'd very often used at his court in Cair Paravel. "You're part of me…you became who I was. You became who I am now! How can I destroy myself?"

And then Edmund surprised himself. "I don't hate you," he said quietly. "I see now. You're just a horribly muddled kid after all. Mind you, " he added, "there's no excusing what you—what I did. But then again you're not the monster I thought I was. You're just… me." He blinked and swallowed thickly. While Aslan's word's had redeemed him, his sacrifice always swayed Edmund with astonishing guilt. It was a burden Edmund found himself carrying at times when he least expected it, and he looked back at the boy he had been with a deluge of sorrow and bitterness and on the darkest days, a vicious, near-hatred. Aslan did not like him to talk of things past, but Edmund never ever forgot.

Now, he'd dared to look the past in the face and found that remembering would no longer hurt….at least not as much. _This is who I was…who I _am, he thought, without a trace of denial, with a soft sigh of acceptance. In many better ways, he remained the same boy… and that was alright. The mirrored brown eyes met his and with a start, Edmund realized they held a spirited gleam, of courage and boyish pride. He wondered if Aslan had seen all these in him, so many Narnian years ago.

"Bit messed up, are you?" The boy rose, shooting him a half-embarrassed grin. Edmund thought that was a bit rich coming from someone who'd just cried his eyes out in someone else's arms. A moment later, he smirked, because—of course— it was just the sort of thing he himself would have said to hastily change the topic.

"If I'm messed up, then so are you" he retorted, also rising. He grimaced. "Oh, blast it…" Snow had soaked right through his jacket and into his nightclothes. For a world that seemed skewed and make-believe, it was starting to _feel _awfully real were those icicles forming on the inside of his jacket? In any case, he had to get out sooner or later. "Listen, I'm….I'm feeling terribly c-cold. Do _you _know the w-way out of these woods…out of this p-place?"

His younger self shrugged. "_You_ were supposed to find _me_. It wasn't the other way around"

"B-b-but," there was no mistaking it, his teeth were starting to chatter madly "th-hen how'm I t-to g-g-get out?!" he stuttered, the chattering made it almost impossible for Edmund to hear himself.

The boy prowled in front of him, surveying him from head to foot. "I wouldn't worry too much"

"W-w-hat?"

Already, the boy was sounding further and further away. "You've seen what you came here for. And now?"

A faint, glimmering white seemed to linger all about them, but without the snow's stinging cold. An omnipresent haze hung over the clearing and poured into the woods; seeping through the trees, which were becoming increasingly indistinct. Glorious warmth coursed through his limbs, even as he beheld the

figure of his younger self vanish into the misty forest.

You found him…?

It was the strange tingling voice from earlier. Yes…Edmund sighed, suddenly seized with drowsiness. In a few more seconds, the strange surreal world blurred right before his eyes. Edmund's knees gave way and he collapsed into empty white, still haunted by images of the boy's doleful eyes, and the faint gleam of spirit igniting in their dark depths the will to fight on, the courage to make his heart known. ..

But he had vanished, he was gone.

_Not gone_…

No...not gone. Edmund's yawn turned into a lazy half-smile, he curled up in the emptiness and heaved another soft sigh.

He…was…right…

Edmund's tired eyes fluttered shut; his breathing slowed

…**.**here

**Things are about to get a little more surreal… But what did you think of the… Heck, what did you think of **_**anything? **_**Yup, I'm asking you for feedback!**


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